


Abhorrent Biology

by Wreck



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Community: trope_bingo, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreck/pseuds/Wreck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had always been a Hunter, but as with most things, hunting had only come about as a side effect of his research.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abhorrent Biology

**Author's Note:**

> This is a three way fusion with Sherlock, Supernatural, and "The Monstrumologist" by Rick Yancey (which everyone should go read right now). You don't have to be familiar with the Monstrumologist at all, but I mention two characters from it: Will Henry, and the titular Pellinore Warthrop.
> 
> Right now, this is a one shot. But I'm not sure I'm done playing in this universe. I have plans for other characters that weren't introduced, but I needed to get this posted for my bingo to count. 
> 
> Finally, a giant thanks to my partner in crime, riddlemesphinx, who said this idea wasn't too crazy.

“Excuse me,” Molly whispered, knocking on the door to the lab. “There’s a Hunter here to see you. He says it’s urgent.”

The figure hunched over the lab table didn’t acknowledge this announcement. Instead, he picked up a scalpel and a pair of lab goggles and leaned further over.

Molly cleared her throat. “I know you said not to disturb you––”

“And yet here you are,” Sherlock responded without looking up from his specimen.

“It’s just,” Molly began softly, “the Society has been ringing me all morning looking for you and now there’s a Hunter at your door. I thought you’d want to–” Molly caught the look on Sherlock’s face and moved back towards the door. “I’ll just go tell him you’re busy.”

“Hunters,” grunted Sherlock, and turned his focus back to his work.

He had always been a Hunter, but as with most things, hunting had only come about as a side effect of his research. When one devoted their life to discovering the things in the shadows, that fell between the cracks, and that went bump in the night, one soon discovered that these creatures were hunted for a reason.

His father had started him on this path when something took their mother in the dead of the night when he was only a child. He had vague memories of that night: screams and blood and his brother holding him back as he cried out for his mother in a way that he had never done while she was living. And he remembered how his father had stood there as the paramedics took her lifeless body away, and how his features had already arranged themselves in the cool mask of indifference he would wear until he met his death 20 years later hunting down the very same creature.

His father had joined the Society as soon as he learnt of it’s existence, and quickly rose through the ranks. Both his father and brother approached the subject with a single mindedness that bordered on obsession; they only cared about finding the creature that had ruined their family. He, on the other hand, delved into the study of Abhorrent Biology with curiosity and feeling; even as a young man he was active in the Societies debates, speaking often and criticizing many, and he sought out the tutelage of the most experienced members.

As he became more established, the Society began to take note of his style. While few had ever met the man and those who had were at the very end of their own lives, having met him as children, they all said the same thing: Sherlock Holmes was modern day Pellinore Warthrop.

It was this comparison that led him to train under Will Henry, protogé of the legendary Dr. Warthrop, who had been somehow preserved through time, and remained only a man of advanced years when Sherlock was in his 20s. He was reluctant to share his experiences and knowledge, but eventually Sherlock had earned his trust and coaxed the memories from him. Mostly, Sherlock suspected that like everyone else, Will Henry saw him in much the same way he saw his old mentor: a Monstrumologist first and a Hunter second.

The line between Monstrumologist and Hunter was often blurred. Most Monstrumologists became Hunters out of necessity: to save their own lives, to stop or prevent a monster infestation, or if they came across a creature that couldn’t safely remain amongst humans. But for a Monstrumologist the passion was always about the creature. After they hunted they returned to their labs with their kill and went to work studying the creature, learning it’s ways, and paying their respects in their own scientific way. Those who started off as Hunters, on the other hand, cared little, if at all, about the science. They weren’t members of the Society and when they killed a creature they destroyed the body without a second thought.

There were other differences, too. Monstrumologists knew there were creatures they studied that the average person would not believe were real (Anthropophagi, for example), but there was detailed documentation and research done on each specimen. A Monstrumologist held tangible proof that these monsters existed. Hunters, or so Sherlock had heard, believed in the spirit world; they hunted things of legend like vampires, werewolves; things that didn’t have a corporeal form, like ghosts. There were whispers amongst some members of the Society, those who despised pure Hunters, that said they even went so far as to believe that they could kill demons.

Sherlock had little patience for pure Hunters, and certainly he could not be persuaded to abandon his dissection just because one had shown up on his doorstep.

After he had finished and sewn the Crocotta body closed, he scrubbed his hands up to the elbows, and jotted down a few more notes in his lab book before heading back up to the flat he occupied above his lab.

“Molly, I think I’ll eat this evening!” He called as he he made his way into the kitchen. “Do we have any more of those chocolate biscuits?” He was brought up short by the sight of his young apprentice chatting happily away with a man in an impeccable suit and, unexpectedly, a pair of scuffed hiking boots.

“Doctor Holmes, I presume,” said the man, rising to his feet and offering his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Oh, you’ve stuck around,” Sherlock said, eyeing the man’s hand wearily.

“Doctor, this is Brook,” introduced Molly, hovering nervously at his elbow. “He’s a–”

“Hunter,” Sherlock finished for her. “Yes, I’d gathered that much. And what does a Hunter want with me?”

“Well, you’re the best,” Brook said smiling as he sat back down in a relaxed pose, legs crossed at the ankles, and picked up the tea he had been enjoying.

Sherlock gave Molly a pointed look and she quickly grabbed another mug and a packet of biscuits. He accepted his mug of tea and sat down across from Brook.

“I”m not a Hunter. What I do is far less primitive.”

“But you do hunt,” Brook said smoothly. When Sherlock did not deny this he continued, “I don’t need a Hunter, I have myself. I need someone with your skills. I need a Monstrumologist and, as I said, you’re the best.”

“And what is it you need a Monstrumologist for?” Sherlock asked in a bored tone. He was already rummaging in his pockets to find his mobile and switch it on for the first time that day. Buzzes filed the room as previously undelivered texts flooded the phone.

“Likely for the same reason you’ve gotten all of those messages,” Brook said. “Because of this.”

He pulled a photo out of his ataché case and slid it towards Sherlock. Sherlock picked up the photo and examined it closely. His eyes widened in momentary surprise.

“It has to be a manipulation,” he said finally, pushing the photo back towards Brook.

Brook hadn’t taken his eyes off Sherlock’s face. “I assure you it’s not. There have been casualties. Quite brutal, actually.”

Another picture joined the first.

“There has been an infestation of Crocottas – I have a specimen downstairs now. This could very likely be an overgrown male,” Sherlock reasoned. “The extreme size of their jaws would account for this pattern here,” he continued pointing at the second photo.

“I think you and I both know that’s not what caused those wounds,” Brook said.

Curiosity had gotten the best of Molly and she sat down at the table, sliding the photos towards herself while the the two men stared at each other, locked in a silent argument. She picked up the photos and starred in horror at what she saw.

The first picture depicted what was left of a youngish man, well dressed, and missing most of the lower half of his body. There were gashes across his face and chest, too. The second picture was a still from a security camera and Molly dropped it as soon as she registered what she was seeing: a giant beast with glowing eyes staring up from the picture as if it could see into Molly’s soul; as if it knew it was being filmed.

Her startled gasp roused the attention of the men. Brook calmly picked up the photos and tucked them back into his case. Sherlock rolled his eyes and slid a mug of tea towards Molly.

“They don’t exist,” Sherlock said finally. “It’s a legend. A superstition. There has never been any proof.”

Brook smiled to himself and got to his feet. “Well, maybe we can change that,” he said with a wink. “Here’s my card. I expect I’ll be hearing from you soon enough.”

Sherlock snorted. “Is that so?”

“Of course. After all, if this is real, which it is, incidentally, you’ll want to be the first to examine it and report it’s discovery back to that club you belong to,” Brook paused at the door and turned back to Sherlock and Molly. “Picture it: Dr. Sherlock Holmes, the Monstrumologist who proved the existence of the Hellhound.”

“And what’s in it for you,” asked Sherlock.

“Oh, me? I just want to hunt it.” And with that, he saw himself out.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering what these creatures are:  
> 1\. A Crocotta is a mythical dog-wolf of India or Ethiopia, linked to the hyena and said to be a deadly enemy of men and dogs.  
> 2\. Anthropophagi are a mythical race of cannibals that appear throughout literature, and are featured in The Monstrumologist.


End file.
